Along Came A Spider
by Aquamarine1212
Summary: *Takes Place After Season 3 Finale* After the traumatizing events involving Magnussen, Moriarty is back and ready to play the game. But his first victim is someone Sherlock had thought he had kept safe from his arch enemies wrath... (One-Shot) (Rated T to be safe)


**A/N: So, this is just a little one-shot I wrote because I got the idea and couldn't leave it alone. :) I imagine that this would happen after the last episode of Season 3. I was just pondering what Moriarty's first move would be, and this idea came and wouldn't leave me alone. Anyways, enjoy!**

**I do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

Spiders. I always hated spiders.

Looking back, I had been so utterly stupid. I thought he was sweet. Even a bit charming despite his oddities. He used to remind me of cats. But he wasn't a cat; true, he had some cat like qualities, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was a spider, large and black with a carefully woven web that he scurried around dutifully. I thought Mr. Know-It-All had been just trying to be dramatic when he had referred to the man as a spider, but now- now I understood every grotesque detail that had made the detective come to the conclusion.

The sound of a door opening snapped me out of my trance. I kept my head hanging down, tucked against my chest and letting my long brown hair fall to create a curtain around my face. For a moment it occurred to me that my hands and ankles weren't bound. I could easily try to make a run for it. But everything I knew about this man told me otherwise. You didn't just run away from him. A pair of black dress shoes appeared in my line of vision, and I could feel my heart racing wildly as I heard the distinctive sound of gum being snapped in somebody's mouth.

"Well good morning. I am feeling simply fantastic, how about you?"

The high-pitched, distinctly unmanly voice cut through the air like a blade. I had never heard such a high voice come out of a fully grown man, and at first it had made me laugh.

Now every time I heard it I was terrified.

"It's only polite to answer when someone asks you a question," his sing-song voice rang out, the tone light and carefree. In my mind I was running frantically through answers, trying to figure out what he wanted me to say. That was the trick with him. You never quite knew how he wanted you to respond. He was a hard act to follow.

"Dear me, I hope I haven't broken you. That wouldn't be much fun, now would it?" My hands were literally shaking now. "Come'on, answer the question. How are you?"

"Fine," I squeaked out. It was about as much as I could force through my lips before they snapped shut.

"Fine?" he said with a laugh. I couldn't see his face but I could picture it perfectly in my minds eye and it made me shudder, "Well that's one I haven't heard before. I've heard bad, terrified, scared to death, and some-" I can imagine the wolfish grin that fills his face as he pauses, "-well, some of them didn't say anything at all. Don't think they ever will again."

I forced myself to concentrate on the concrete beneath me. It was far from interesting, but I would rather look at anything other than him. The stone was a dull, cold grayish color, flecked with lighter and darker specks. I tried not to think about the horrid man standing before me. He was supposed to be dead. I had seen his dead body with my own eyes and I had told Sherlock that there was no way he could have survived.

Yet here he was, against all odds and all possibilities.

"Look up honeymuffin, I want to see your face," He laughed. I kept my head bowed. If he wanted to see my face, I sure wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of making it easy.

"Oh, come on now," he said, lightly clicking his tongue in disapproval, "Show me your face, silly." His voice had taken on a slightly tense edge, but I kept my head bowed, testing my luck. It only took a moment for me to realize how stupid that decision had been.

"LOOK AT ME!" he nearly screamed out the words and I jumped, my head jerking upwards in surprise. His voice had changed in a instant, going from his high-pitched, sing-song tone to something much more terrifying. It was raucous and it bounced off the walls, creating an eerie echoing effect. My heart was nearly bursting in my chest as I looked at those two, cold, black eyes. They narrowed for a moment, and then he let out a breath, relaxing and taking on his smile once again.

"There we are," he said in a honeyed tone, smoothing out his gray suit, "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" I just sat, huddled against the wall and wishing desperately that somebody would come get me out of here. He walked slowly across the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You must be so disappointed that I overlooked you last time," he said, still smiling, "Poor little girl, you didn't get in on any of the fun. Well this time it'll be different. This time, nobody's getting left out of the game." I wanted to look away, to stop staring at his pale face and thin lips, but I was too terrified to even try. I tried to find someone, anyone to blame for where I was. My mind automatically flashed to Sherlock. If he hadn't gone and involved me in this, I would still be back at the hospital, working my job. I played with the thought for a moment, then finally gave in. Of course it wasn't Sherlock's fault. If anyone was to blame, it was me. I had very willingly helped him. I had even offered to get him out of danger several times. This was bound to happen.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the clicking of phone keys. He was typing on his phone with one hand, looking rather bored. "What was it he called me again?" he asked. I couldn't quite tell if he was talking to me or to himself, "A spider, that's right. A spider. He's rather poetic about these things, wouldn't you agree? Although that really is a rather perfect analogy." Sherlock. I felt my chest ache. Lord, he was the only one who could ever get me out of here. I wondered if he even realized I was missing. It'd probably take him weeks to even suspect anything-

"Oooh, well this is _interesting,_" the black-haired man said with a smirk. His phone was making little chirping noises and vibrated in his hands. He wandered over to me and sat down on the floor, leaning against my shoulder and holding up his phone. "See for yourself, muffin," he chirped out. I shuddered as soon as his back touched me, but I didn't dare to move. Instead of focusing on the psychopath leaning casually against my arm, I looked at the fluorescent screen of his phone. The text was short, but it made me almost cry with joy.

_Where is she?_

_-SH_

"That didn't take long," he said, bringing the phone back down and clicking keys with fluid motions, "Let's see if Mr. Detective can still have a little laugh. A spider, eh?" He was smiling now as he typed. "A spider...oh, I know know just what to do." Then in a few swift motions, he had typed out the rest of the text and his finger hovered over the send button.

"You'll make a fine little miss Muffet," he laughed, getting up onto his feet, " I just know how much Sherl's missed this, missed me. Won't this be a fun little riddle to start up the game?" He snapped his gum as he walked towards the door, then began to chant softly. It wasn't anything like singing, but it wasn't his normal voice either. Some strange voice that he reserved just for occasions like the present.

_"Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet,_

_Eating her curds and whey._

_When along came a spider who sat down beside her_

_And scared little Miss Muffet away."_

He flashed me one last sickening grin, pressed the send key on his phone, then waltzed out the door.

. . . . .

I rocked back and forth, my vision hazy. Three days. At least I think it had been three days. Day and night almost seemed to blur together in this haze I was living in. I tugged absentmindedly at the collar of my white lab coat. I knew that I looked like a wreck, and silently I chided myself. _What if Sherlock shows up? You don't want him to see you like this._ Lifting up one trembling hand, I tried to comb through my hair with my fingers, but my arm burned with pain at the slight motion, so I dropped it back down to my side, defeated. _Sherlock will show up. Sherlock will rescue me._ I continued to tell this to myself. I could only hope I could fool myself into believing it.

_Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet…_

The words echoed in my head, his voice so real I almost thought he had come into the room. I put my hands over my ears, trying to block it out. But that doesn't work the best when the voice is in your head.

_Eating her curds and whey…_

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Why wouldn't he just leave? _Out of my mind, you devil!_

_When along came a spider who sat down beside her, and scared little Miss Muffet away._ Then his laugh began to fill my head, making it throb. I closed my eyes tighter and let out a high, long scream. My head rattled and I could only think of that laugh, that awful, high pitched laugh. Nothing else existed, just the blackness and myself and that horrid laughing.

Something touched my shoulder and my eyes flew open, all thoughts and voices disappearing from my mind as I jerked backwards, looking up at my tormentor. His hand hovered in the air where it had been resting on my shoulder a moment ago and he smiled.

"I suppose I've held you long enough now to shake him up a bit," he said, straightening out the collar of his gray jacket, "I wouldn't want to rush this. I want to savor every moment."

I had the urge to say something smart back to him, but even if I had had the courage to do it my thoughts were scattered and unorganized, in no shape to be forming sarcastic comments. He flipped out his phone and typed in a four letter passcode. "Lucky for you I'm in a good mood, buttercup," he said in his sing-song voice, "Sherl will be here real soon to pick you up. Send him my regards!" He tapped a button on his screen, then promptly slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Oh, and why don't you give him this in my stead, ok kitten?" he smiled slyly and handed me a bowl.

I looked down. It was filled with a yellow-white liquid that was clumping in several places. I squinted, looking closer at whatever it was that was in the bowl. I felt like I should know what this was, but my mind was foggy and my entire arms burned from the thin, precise wounds that had been engraved in them. Of course _he_ hadn't been the one to do it, as he hated getting his hands dirty, but he had been the one to make the call.

Curds. Curds and whey.

I realized what the strange substance in the bowl was and I almost threw it onto the ground. He always had to make his riddles clever, and he couldn't leave without a final little touch to perfect his masterpiece.

"Oh, how I missed this!" he laughed as he walked out of the room. I shuddered, my cold hands losing their grip on the bowl. It clattered to the ground and the curds and whey splattered onto the floor around my feet. _Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey. When along came a spider who sat down beside her, and scared little Miss Muffet away._ The words wouldn't leave my head, and for a vague second I wondered if something was wrong with me before the words overtook me again, making everything else unimportant.

_Little Miss Muffet…_

_Little Miss Muffet…_

_Little Miss Muffet…_

I'm not sure how long I sat there, curled in a ball, my arms around my legs as the words echoed through my head. The curds and whey remained spilled all over the floor around my feet, but I didn't even try to clean it up. My arms wouldn't even move anymore, and I glanced at them only to find the white lab coat stained red all over. I was horrified. How could this be real? I didn't feel the pain, yet there was blood soaking my arms.

_I'm a scientist, I'm supposed to know these things,_ I thought to myself, breaking out into hysterical giggles. "Silly girl, some scientist you're turning out to be," I laughed to myself through tears. I could hardly tell the floor from the walls anymore, and everything was shifting around. Sherlock wasn't coming. I should have known better. He was a calculating machine, and he had calculated that I wasn't worth his time. I should have known. I should have known.

I tried to put my hand over the cuts on my arms, but they were shaking and simply refused to move. Why was this so hard? I gritted my teeth in pain as I forced my hands up to clutch at my upper arms. Was the room filling with smoke? Everything was getting gray and blurry at the edges of the room.

Suddenly the door flew open with a sharp crack, a sound much too loud for my ears. I flinched, scooting backwards against the wall. He was probably back to laugh at me some more, that spider of a man. I couldn't even remember his name anymore. He was just the spider. And I was Little Miss Muffet, with my curds and whey. More tears streamed down my already wet face. A man with high cheekbones and curly blackish-brown hair flew into the room, his icy blue eyes sparkling with anger and every muscle on his body tense with apprehension.

I knew who that was. But I didn't.

A shorter man followed, with a round face and gray hair. He had blue eyes and wore a tan jumper. His eyes were fearful, but he wasn't showing any sign of that inner fear as he pointed a shotgun around the room, his eyes darting around wildly.

Now the smoke was engulfing them too.

"Oh Lord," the shorter man said. I could surprisingly still hear his voice, although the gray fog had taken him in too. The taller man with the high cheekbones came bursting through the haze, a black trenchcoat flying behind him.

"Say something!" he demanded, getting down on one knee to be at eye level with me and grabbing my shoulders. He started to curse under his breath, his blue eyes growing frantic.

"He gave me some curds and whey for you," I managed to choke out. I wondered if I looked as empty as I felt, "I spilled them. I'm sorry." The tall man glared down at the spilled food on the floor, as if it had been the source of all my suffering. The hatred in his eyes was more than apparent. "Little Miss Muffet, sat on her tuffet-" I began to chant out the words without even thinking. I couldn't think. All I could do was sing the little rhyme that had been the source of torment for me the past three days.

"No!" the tall man growled in frustration. Something in his eyes was animalistic, "Talk to me, tell me what happened-"

"I'm going into shock," I stated in a calm, cool voice. Then before I could even realize it, I was falling. Someone, maybe the taller man, caught me before my head could hit the ground. Now there wasn't any gray smoke. Just blackness. I caught one last sentence from the tall man before I blacked out:

"I'm so sorry Molly."


End file.
